


Your hairpin breaks my shield and my sword

by signalbeam



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Corpse Envy, F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Friendship/Love, Gen, Humor, One-Sided Attraction, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Silent Protagonist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21747427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signalbeam/pseuds/signalbeam
Summary: “Hubert, tell me how Dorothea learned about the professor’s heart.”“The professor told her.”“Surely she meant it as a joke. I’ll put it on our fliers: if you are suspected to be heartless, enlist in the Adrestian army or take our civil service exam.”Edelgard's hot for her corpse-y teacher.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg & Hubert von Vestra, Edelgard von Hresvelg/Hubert von Vestra, Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 15
Kudos: 110





	Your hairpin breaks my shield and my sword

Around the fourth time Edelgard runs into the professor on one of her late night walks, she says into a hallway, “What do you think keeps her awake?” 

“Nothing,” Hubert says from, probably, a hidden alcove in the wall. He sounds like he’s right next to her, though she knows if she looks, she’ll be alone. “I’ve told you before. The professor does not sleep. She is not haunted, ill, or emotionally tormented, nor does she have any noted health issues. Except for… Dorothea mentioned this. The professor has no heartbeat.” 

“In the world I hope to build, it shouldn’t matter if you have a heartbeat or not, as long as you’re capable.” 

“Ill-advised.” His voice has the thick, roughened quality it gets when he’s tired. They’ve already had the ‘just because I’m up doesn’t mean you have to be’ conversation earlier, sometime just after midnight, so she can’t bring it up again without the two of them having one of their non-fights. 

Talking to Hubert is easy for her, from their veiled conversations out in the open to their more private discussions in secure quarters, but she’s noticed, now that they spend more time with others, that there is more to Hubert than she suspected. Does he have friends? What is he like when he’s out with Dorothea or chasing after Linhardt to bring him something for an experiment—which she has seen him do, on his own volition, rather than on any orders she had given him. He always tells her he can’t imagine himself without her, but she isn’t as imaginatively deficient, especially this late. At night, it becomes harder to keep her thoughts from straying from the correct path; they bump against the railings and the walls, impatient to be let out. 

She instead heads towards the gardens near the cathedral, and although she hears no footsteps, she knows Hubert is close behind. Garreg Mach is too big for ordinary people. It must be a place meant for gods, saints, and monsters to live. The enormity makes no sense otherwise. She sounds like she’s complaining, but she minds it less than she makes it sound. At home, being the Imperial Princess makes her a giant; here, she’s as small as the bats flying under the buttresses, searching for food and a way out. The worst of the summer heat has ended and the sound of buzzing and singing insects, echoing down the stone halls, has gone from unbearable to something she misses, though she doesn’t miss the dry mountain heat or the sense that she was being baked alive in her armor and school uniform, never mind that costume and mask. She tolerated it and made herself not hate it. Being too hot is a luxury the dead do not indulge in. 

“Hubert, tell me how Dorothea learned about the professor’s heart.” She has the image of Dorothea running her fingers along the professor’s neck, searching for a pulse, and then dropping her fingers to the professor’s collarbone; she imagines Dorothea doing the same to Hubert as a joke and is surprised by how much the image pleases her. 

“The professor told her.” 

“Surely she meant it as a joke. I’ll put it on our fliers: if you are suspected to be heartless, enlist in the Adrestian army or take our civil service exam.” 

Hubert enjoys listening to her talk about recruitment and will usually give her a laugh for her efforts. Instead, he says, “Lady Edelgard, do you wish to be with her?” 

“We’ve already talked about this. I don’t need you meddling in my private life.”

“Of course. Forgive your impudent servant. Punish him, if you’d like. But you remember how, early on, the professor wished for me to learn some faith.”

“Yes, that would have been useful. But I told her you’re not constitutionally inclined.” 

“Yet she did her best.” Edelgard steps into the moonlight and Hubert appears at her elbow, courteously keeping himself a step behind. His hair is tangling in the back. His voice lowers further. “During practice, I noticed how hard it was to detect life in her while healing. And there are some of her odder behaviors at night.” 

The monastery, in the bright parts, looks almost holy instead of desolate. She’s tired. She can feel her eyelids growing puffy and her lower back aches. Her right elbow and shoulder are sore from training. Hubert looks the same as always; that’s to say, somewhat awful. 

“If you have something to say about the professor, then say it,” Edelgard says. 

“Would you like to see for yourself?” 

It’s rare that he asks her to accompany him anywhere. The novelty is enough to make her agree. 

They walk side-by-side back to the dormitory. Hubert takes the lead this time. He walks slower than usual and every now and then he takes a deep breath and his lower jaw shudders with the effort of containing a yawn. Edelgard is worried, now, about what could be so terrible about the professor’s night habits that he feels the need to show her. Alongside that worry is a shameful excitement. She has told the professor more about her childhood than any other person, yet she knows so little about the professor: her life, what she thinks of Edelgard beyond being just a student, whether, when the time comes, the professor will join her. Though the professor is always professional with her, gentle, and patient, the intimacy is all on Edelgard’s part. A few kind words are all what the professor offers. 

If she were Hubert, she might be worried for her, too. She’s reading too much into it. But it was also true that the professor chose her. It makes her happy to be chosen, even if it was only by accident. No. She’d rather be selected by pure chance than to be chosen for any reason relating to her blood or her Crests. It’s better this way. 

They arrive at the professor’s room. Hubert knocks with total self-assurance, without any signs of distress. He’s done this before. The door opens a moment later. The lamp is on. The professor looks out at them. She looks refreshed.

“Good evening,” Hubert says. 

The professor is still dressed for the day. She nods at Hubert and smiles at Edelgard. 

“We’re sorry to bother you at this hour,” Edelgard says. The look Hubert gives her says that he thinks she’s being fussy. 

“We’d like to stay in your room while you sleep, if you don’t mind,” Hubert says. 

The professor nods. Yes, she would be all right with that. Edelgard watches her carefully for any signs of deception or irony. There are none. 

“Would you mind if we also smothered you in your sleep?” Hubert says. 

The professor frowns. Her head tilts to one side. She makes the gesture of thinking, then shakes her head. 

“Drat,” Hubert says humorlessly. It’s bizarre to see him joking with someone other than her. Edelgard tries to not boggle. “If you’re tired, feel free to go to sleep.” The professor nods. She lies back down on the bed without taking off her shoes or getting under the sheets. Her eyes shut and she, by all appearances, departs from consciousness. Hubert walks over and puts his fingers, very directly, on the professor’s neck. When the professor opens her eyes, Hubert says, “I’m checking your pulse. Would you like Edelgard to feel it?” 

The professor frowns but nods. Since the night is already unsalvageable, Edelgard goes to the bedside, where the professor is still lying down. Her resting posture is strangely perfect. The pattern of her tights are not distorted by any slackness in her knees or feet. The lamp gives off a warm light, both in terms of color and temperature. Edelgard briefly admires the floral pattern, then lowers her fingers to the professor’s neck. Her gloves are thin enough that she should be able to feel the professor’s pulse at its strongest point, but no matter how hard she tries, there’s nothing. Edelgard’s palm grows warm, not from skin-to-skin contact, but from nervousness. 

“I’m sorry for troubling you so late at night, my teacher,” Edelgard says and removes her hand from the professor’s neck. She’d like to keep searching for a pulse for complete certainty, but professor’s skin temperature reminds her of handling corpses on the battlefield, turning them over in the mud to check for any sign of life or bullion. 

Unexpectedly, the professor grabs Edelgard’s wrist and brings it down to her—Edelgard’s brain goes momentarily blank—the center of her chest. She keeps Edelgard’s hand above most of her breast, though Edelgard can still feel the soft tissue overlaying her cage of ribs. There’s no rise and fall of breathing, no heartbeat. Then the professor takes one of those big breaths of air she always takes when she’s about to speak, a breath Edelgard always chose to attribute to nervousness instead of the professor not needing to breathe except for when she wants to speak, and says, “Jeralt says I’ve always been like this.” 

“I see,” Edelgard says. A new piece of information given to her without Edelgard having to offer anything should make Edelgard happy. But it’s clear that it doesn’t mean anything to the professor. What would be truly important to her? Edelgard doesn’t know. If Hubert weren’t here, she’d take her gloves off and demand for the professor to remove her shirt. Are there scars on the professor’s chest the way there are scars on her hands, arms, and back? She wants to not only know, but try. At that, the points of contact between them, her hand on the professor's chest, the professor's hand on her wrist, become hot. She feels stupid and cumbersome, like she's in full plate armor in the desert. 

“You and Hubert can have the morning off from classes. I won’t mind.” 

“But what about you?” The professor looks puzzled, as though it never occurred to her to sleep to begin with. Edelgard can feel herself growing flustered. The professor’s still holding her hand. If she can sense Edelgard’s nerves, she isn’t letting on. “Hubert and I will think about it. Thank you.” 

The professor nods. She lets go of Edelgard and shuts her eyes. The transformation from person to thing happens almost instantly. Edelgard feels her skin go tight. 

“There,” Hubert says. There’s a dark charge in his voice, a victorious gleam in his eye. “You see.” 

***

Apparently, the professor takes night walks at irregular intervals, so it’s no surprise that they should run into one another occasionally. A mercenary’s habit, perhaps. In seminar, the professor talks about having to keep watch during camps. The professor is, if Edelgard is honest with herself, not a good lecturer. What does the camp's watch schedule have to do with tactics? 

Hubert retreats into the shadows as they head back to their respective rooms, for which Edelgard’s glad. She’s upset with him: for charging into the professor’s room like that, for giving her this new piece of information about the professor she has no idea what to make of. It’s not like Hubert to try to unbalance her. Even if she thinks it’s potentially important, even when she knows this is Hubert opening up to her, what is she supposed to do with this? He seems so happy and lively, even if only in his voice. It irritates her. 

They’re almost back to their room when they run into Dimitri in the courtyard. He walks with a bent back, weaving erratically between a pair of statues: Macuil reprimanding the animals for their wild behavior toward the east, Indech holding a tiger by its foot to the west. Dimitri’s lips move, though Edelgard can hear no words. Every now and then, he stops moving except for his hands, which clench into fists and go limp in cycles. 

“Would you care for me to intervene, Lady Edelgard?” Hubert says. He has stepped into the light. 

She’s glad she hasn’t been ruined by her past the way Dimitri has. She’s seen him on other nights, sometimes enraged, sometimes just sleepwalking. In any case, they don’t have anything to do with one another anymore and she doesn’t want to get in the habit of being kind to him, not when he surely won’t show her any mercy or even give her a scrap of his understanding. The dead shouldn’t be chains; if Dimitri had made them fuel, chunks of charcoal to feed a fire, then he could have been an ally. She watches Dimitri for a while longer to make sure he’s not angry then says, “It’ll be sunrise soon. He’ll wake up on his own.” 

At Edelgard’s doorway, they say good night, but neither of them move. The key to her room is in her hand. She doesn’t bring it to the lock. 

“You’re free to leave,” Edelgard says. 

“I’m afraid I’ve displeased you,” Hubert says. “It would be difficult for me to sleep knowing you’re upset. Your well-being, physical and emotional, is paramount.” 

“I’m not upset with you, Hubert. Good night.” She puts the key in the lock. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Hubert shift, his weight moving from his midfoot to the balls of his feet. “Yes?” 

“If the professor becomes our reliable ally, I would have no problem with any type of tryst you may choose to pursue.”

“I see,” she says. She doubts his promise, though not his sincerity. “I know you were trying to protect me. You and I have never had the time nor inclination to pursue intimacy with others, so it’s only expected that one of us showing interest outside our trusted circle would present us with new problems.” 

“I agree completely, Lady Edelgard,” he says in a grave tone, as though he’s receiving bad news. 

“And I agree with you. The danger is too great, and we have too many other priorities.” 

He nods and gives her something like a smile. He looks relieved. Still, he doesn’t go. He takes a step to her, like a lamb figuring out where its feet are. Then he closes the distance with two long strides. He puts his whole hand high on her neck, a cross between a threat and a pulse check. She adjusts her head to make it easier. It’s one of the oddest, most intimate things he’s ever done for her. She puts her hand on his chest and there it is. It feels instinctive, as many things do between them: I am here, you are here, here is our proof of life. They know each other nearly heart by heart. Their hands fall away at the same time. 

“I plan to head into town tomorrow morning,” she says. “We have a license to be absent. We’d be foolish to not use it to prepare.”

“Of course, Lady Edelgard. Good night.” He makes his stiff, little bow and leaves. 

In her room, she changes out of her school clothes to her nightgown and puts herself in bed. She imagines the professor sleeping, if it can be called sleeping, in her own bed, looking and sounding more like a corpse than a living human. She expects to feel revulsion or fear; some other thing beyond the punch of envy. She wishes she could have her body and mind under such perfect control: turn it on, turn it off, go to bed, and become, instantly, mentally inviolable and asleep. 

She lets herself imagine the professor’s blank—no, professional… not that, either. She lets herself imagine the professor underneath her, looking serious and intent on the task Edelgard has requested of her. In her fantasy, she tries to break the professor, but ends up overmatched; the usual outcome. If she imagined fucking the professor as a successful conquest, maybe that would make Hubert happy—not that he knows. But she’s half certain that he knows. Instead, by the end of her fanciful, girlish scenarios, she’s spread out beneath the professor and begging to know how to do it, how can she kill her heart so it will stop getting in her way? 

That’s not to say she doesn’t have her own sense of how to do so. She’s been working on it for a long time. But she would like, for once, someone to tell her how. She would like someone to try. 


End file.
